


Flight 2090 is now boarding...

by TiredRazzberry



Series: Modern Westeros AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Fluff, Family Reunions, Gendry's surname is actually Clearwaters, Older Arya, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiredRazzberry/pseuds/TiredRazzberry
Summary: "Arya indulged Catelyn. She caught her up to speed on her life in Rosby and spoke at length about Gendry. They were moved into the loft aside from a box or two shoved into a corner, Arya liked the new troupe she was with for the most part and they were working on a production of The Winter Child, Gendry was adjusting well to the whole art teacher thing since his dislike for kids was limited to snotty teenagers, etcetera, etcetera.Their life together sounded so...together the way Arya talked about, and even though she was being one hundred percent honest, she felt like she was lying to her parents somehow. Arya's life sounded like it was on the fast track to perfection. It wasn't. Not that it was in shambles, but there were certainly bumps in the road ahead and a mangled timeline in her wake. Her mother didn't need to hear that, however. Not so close to her special day.The truth could wait just a bit longer."...Arya visits with her family up north. She enjoys the reunion wholeheartedly, all while bearing a life altering secret that threatens to steal her mother and her brother's thunder on their special days.





	Flight 2090 is now boarding...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veridissima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veridissima/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.

"You've got your charger?" 

"In my carry-on." 

"Your mom's gift?" 

"In my duffel." 

"Underwear?" 

Arya punched Gendry in the arm. Being the infuriating giant he was, he only chuckled at the blow before pulling Arya into their third hug in ten minutes. It was a bit ridiculous, Arya had to admit, and she loathed the idea that on-lookers thought they were one of  _those_ couples, but context mattered. 

She was flying up north in a matter of minutes, and Arya and Gendry would be separated for almost two weeks. Eleven days to be exact. Mother's Day was on the horizon, with Bran's birthday close behind. It just made sense for Arya to stick around for the week between the two dates. That didn't mean it wouldn't be hard for her and Gendry, what with present circumstances. Her mother had agreed. 

"You're just married," She'd argued over the phone a little over a week prior. "You two aren't even really moved into the loft, it would only make things more chaotic for you to come home right now. We can do one of those video calls the day of, you don't need to drag yourself up here." 

Arya had had none of it. Even as Gendry had flashed her his best sad puppy face over the back of the couch. "I want to see you guys. I _have_ to see you guys. This is just as much for me as for you and Bran. It blows being the farthest one from home." It was bizarre, really. As a teen, Arya loathed venturing anywhere south of Grandpa Hoster's house. The culture shock of traveling past the Neck had been all too real. At twenty-four, Arya was so far past the Neck, if she were the hem of a shirt she'd be racking up indecency charges. Rosby was practically a suburb of King's Landing in many respects, but it had its charms. Enough for the newlyweds to stick around after the nuptials for the foreseeable future. A future that was quickly emerging as a very tangible thing for Arya.

Another reason for her return home. Arya remembered watching a nature documentary about the life cycle of salmon. How they swam upstream upon reaching adulthood in order to mate and then promptly die. Arya was swimming upstream with very different intentions in mind, but under the same basic principle: to return to her roots at a significant turning point in her life. She needed to be surrounded by familiar walls and faces. The only drawback was that Gendry was staying behind. 

He had been commissioned to produce a Mother's Day gift by some King's Landing snake, school was still in session so he had classes to teach, and he had his own mother to celebrate with besides. 

" **Flight 2090 is now boarding**." 

Arya gave her husband one last firm squeeze and let him sway her on her toes a bit before releasing her loving headlock and dropping back to her feet. Gendry bent down the extra few inches to kiss Arya goodbye, good and proper. Arya returned the sentiment. 

"Remember to eat something green while I'm away." She whispered to him when they parted. 

"Send me a picture of every dog or random cool thing you happen across while you're up there." Gendry replied. 

They pecked each other on the lips one last time for the road. Then just one more. And another. And another after that...

Pulling away proved easier said than done. Arya _did_  need this trip, but she did  _not_ want to leave Gendry. It felt all kinds of wrong considering the circumstances. Not to mention the paranoid little voice in the back of her head whispering all sorts of horrible scenarios that could unfold in their time apart, rendering her a young widow - among other things.

It was the loud _aw_ -ing of a nearby old woman that finally embarrassed Arya into disengaging her husband in disgusting amounts of PDA. With one _last_ last goodbye kiss, Arya bid Gendry farewell and headed towards her gate. 

...

 _Minutes her ass_ , Arya wasn't in the air for another hour!

* * *

It was late evening when her flight arrived at the Lakeside Airstrip just outside of Torrhen's Square. Arya was blinking in and out of wakefulness most of the half hour she spent camped out in the 70s so-dated-it-looped-back-to-themed waiting area with her luggage, marking time till Jon or Sansa or Robb or whoever could be bothered to picked her up. It ended up being Rickon. Made sense, really, what with him going to school in Barrowton and all. 

Arya threw her luggage into the backseat alongside his and climbed into the passenger seat of the frosted truck. Rickon ruffled her hair like he was the elder sibling--he almost looked it with his stupid scruffy beard--and cranked up the radio to deafening volumes. The siblings howled old rock songs the whole way to Wintertown, through powder sugar snow and darkness on a lonely highway. With each familiar ancient billboard and landmark passed, Arya felt more and more at home, in a way she didn't usually get to be when away from Gendry.

On the highway, she spotted advertisements for her favorite pancake house and pizza party place growing up, side by side, and badly beaten by the harsh Northern weather. Just like the restaurants were by the Northerners and their rowdy children. On the outskirts of town, Arya spotted the blinking signs of the old motels and bowling alleys, and smiled when passing their dingy, slush-filled parking lots. Downtown, Rickon was forced to stop at more and more red lights and signs, giving Arya ample opportunity to peak through old store windows to see just how little had changed in her absence. A few stores sat dark and apparently abandoned, breaking Arya's heart just a little. Most, however, seemed to be trucking along as they always had. The only obvious change was on the other side of town, Arya saw as they progressed out of Wintertown towards home. The local branch of Stark Hardware was even bigger than the last time Arya had seen it; Robb had made good on his word to expand.

The road got darker as they made their way uphill and through the woods. Arya wasn't afraid, however. Starks were masters of driving on icy roads and in the dark. Icy roads _in_  the dark were no problem. They passed the old Winterfell historical site, took a turn off road a few miles past it, and were on their insanely long driveway. After an age, from around the bend of the road and the treeline emerged an old cottage, glowing with its sense of home and family. And the many lights none of them had ever learned to turn off when exiting a room to their parents' chagrin. Rickon steered the truck into the snow covered lawn and parked between two other cars by the old barn. 

They were just unloading their luggage when the front door of the cottage swung open. Arya looked up to find a gaggle of dogs darting their way and her mother standing on the front step, back-lit like some sort of holy spirit. Arya and Rickon both dropped their luggage without a thought in order to greet their four-legged friends properly. The belly-rubs and ear-scratches were interrupted by the crunch of snow under foot. 

Arya rose to her feet and hugged her mother close. She was enveloped in warmth and the familiar scents of the house and her mother's lotions. In that instant, Arya was completely home. 

"Welcome back, sweetheart." Cat whispered in daughter's ear. 

"Glad to be back." Arya replied. 

Like back at in Rosby, it was an outside force that finally forced Arya to dislodge herself for her loved one. This time, the elements. The snowfall started picking up and the dogs circled the three humans, whining and yipping. Arya and Rickon grabbed their things and hustled inside. The dogs hurried further into the house to warm up by the fire without a care for their wet paws, while Arya and her brother were forced to strip down in the mudroom before they could join the rest of the family in the den.

"The prodigal daughter returns!" Robb greeted Arya with a bear hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around as if to pass her off to Jon who stood just behind him in line to welcome her home. "And the prodigal son!" He shouted out when Rickon stepped up to the plate. Little brother plucked big brother off the ground and spun _him_ this time. 

Arya worked her way through the room with hugs and kisses, taking everyone in, and vice-versa.

Robb had even more thoroughly embraced his Dad status since the last family gathering. Not that she didn't know that already thanks to Jeyne's round-the-clock social media updates. Robb sported a lumberjack beard - the likes of which Rickon could only ever dream to emulate - simultaneously with khaki pants. Where Robb had grown more hair, Jeyne had chopped off hers in favor of a manageable bob cut. Unlike her husband, she was maintaining a semblance of fashion sense with a knit sweater. Regardless of what they were wearing, they were both looking thicker in the middle. A sure sign of their comfort and happiness in Married with Kids Land. Happy for them as she always had been, Arya remained vaguely unnerved every time her eyes wandered the room and she found them standing side by side, basking in the purity and cuteness their eight-year-old and six-year-old radiated like gamma rays. 

E.J and Willam had sprouted up like weeds since the wedding. They were well on their way to rendering Arya the shortest member of the clan once again. Two inches taller, they were still lovable little hellions, using their uncles for human jungle gyms. Poor Jon bore the brunt of it. 

That's what one got when they enlisted in the army. Little boys wanting a piece of them at every opportunity. Jon could take it, though; unlike Robb, Jon was still in fairly good shape for an old guy. 

"I'm not even thirty!" 

"For like, less than six more months." 

For all Arya teased, Jon really did look more his young age than Robb. It probably helped that that there wasn't really any action to be had up at the Hardhome Military Base besides the usual policing of the Free Folk reservations, and that hadn't been such a task since the Free Folk started governing themselves again. No kids was also a likely factor in Jon's lack of premature wrinkles. Jon and Sansa were were a lot more sensible - or at least less insane with that hallucinogen called _young love -_ than either Robb or Arya. There had been near misses, but so far the both of them had survived their twenties without getting hitched. 

Unsurprisingly, Sansa looked even better than Jon. She was same old beautiful Sansa. Her most radical change in appearance was that she had evolved from simply braiding the hair on the left side of her head to shaving it off completely for a stylishly badass new 'do that would have given fourteen-year-old Sansa a massive heart attack. Apparently it was all the rage in Gulltown lately. Half her co-workers at the magazine had sections of their head shaved. So maybe it wasn't all that radical after all. 

Still, it was a bit strange for Arya to have the tamer look between her and her sister. Sansa was already beautiful and vibrant with her big blue eyes and red hair. Here she was now with an eye-catching haircut and fashion-forward clothing. Arya was more concerned with comfort than fashion, so her wardrobe was made up mostly of over-sized sweaters, tights, and tank tops. All well-worn with their fair share of stains and stretching. Arya dressed like a Yoga Mom and that was just embarrassing standing next to her fashion blogger sister.

Arya guessed some things would never change...

Standing next to Rickon, at least, made her feel well put-together. His jeans had not had holes in them when Mom bought them, Arya was certain of that. One might wonder looking at him if he'd spent the last eight months roughing it in the wilderness rather than at school. Seven Hells, Arya hoped he had been at school all this time. 

She didn't have to worry about that with Bran. All his texts and emails made a point of mentioning the trials and tribulations of being a grad student. Even with Meera down in Oldstones with him to help out as roommate with the apartment, apparently Bran's life was steeped in chaos so consistently it looped back around to orderly. Arya could see how happy they were to be away from it all on their faces. Bran had even found the time to shave his Beard of Thesis Paper Sorrow. He greeted Arya with a hug and a smile, made a token inquiry about her travels, and then went back to basking in the glow of the fireplace with his hot chocolate. Meera put a bit more effort into sparking a conversation but seemed happy enough to tag out with Arya's father and return to cuddling one of the dogs on the floor. 

The dogs were a bit more gray than the last time Arya had seen them. She tried to push that fact to the back of her head. It didn't seem like so long ago that the family had brought each of them home, one after another, in order to fill the holes left by Lady, Greywind, Summer, Shaggy, Ghost, and finally Nymeria. That had just been three years ago, and already her successor Black Aly was more salt than pepper black, having already been a bit long in the tooth when they'd brought the terrier home from the shelter. Arya wondered if she could take Aly back to Rosby with her like she had originally planned to after graduating. That hadn't worked out at the time because Arya's first landlord hadn't been too keen on pets. Nor was the second. The loft, however, was all Arya and Gendry's. 

Aly was a good dog. She wasn't an attention hog. Kids loved her and she loved kids. She was small, too, and didn't need a big yard, just a long walk every now and again. Arya made a mental note to talk it over with Gendry later. 

She wouldn't end up calling Gendry to check in till late into the evening, too caught up in seeing everyone in the flesh after nearly a year. Her parents, especially, didn't want to give her up for the evening without a fight. Arya swore her dad almost cried when he finally got his turn to hug her. He spent most of the night continuously remarking on how grown up his little girl was and giving off the palpable vibe that he honestly had no idea how to feel about it. That was how most of their interactions had gone since Arya had been with Gendry. She tried her best not to give away how annoying it was; Arya just wanted to enjoy being home for a change. 

Her mother was about the exact opposite, seeming to relish any opportunity to talk about Arya's Adult Life with a husband and a career the same way she had with Robb when it was as new to him as it was to Arya now. Catelyn was very excited for her younger daughter. Arya knew exactly why: she probably didn't expect Arya ever to "settle down" when she was growing up, so seeing it happen must have been nothing short of miraculous in her eyes. Arya would have been a bit insulted if she were less self-aware.

She knew exactly what kind of teenager she'd been. As a kid, Arya been down on herself because of how the world compared her to Sansa and girls like Sansa. To say it sucked would be an understatement. As a teen, Arya had fetishized her differences from her sister to the point of exaggeration for the sake of projecting confidence she didn't have. Arya had gone from an upbeat tomboy to a very surly teenager who went out of her way "not to be like those  _other_ girls" like it some badge of honor. It was all really embarrassing looking back on it, and Arya was glad that university had seen her shed a lot of that internalized misogyny and dial the attitude back. Her "growing out" of her vehement opposition to things like romantic relationships, anything labeled 'fashionable', and the color pink on the sole basis of their perceived femininity may have seemed inevitable in hindsight, but Arya didn't blame her mother if at the time she had been convinced that Arya would never ever wear a floral print again, let alone get married before her sister. 

Arya indulged Catelyn. She caught her up to speed on her life in Rosby and spoke at length about Gendry. They were moved into the loft aside from a box or two shoved into a corner collecting dust, Arya liked the new troupe she was with for the most part and they were working on a production of _The Winter Child_ , Arya didn't like the wig for the part of Princess Gael, Gendry was adjusting well to the whole art teacher thing since his dislike for kids was limited to snotty teenagers, etcetera, etcetera.

Their life together sounded so... _together_ the way Arya talked about. Even though she was being one hundred percent honest, Arya felt like she was lying to her parents somehow. Her life sounded like it was on the fast track to perfection. It wasn't. Not that it was in shambles, but there were certainly bumps in the road ahead and a mangled timeline in her wake.

Her mother didn't need to hear that, however. Not so close to her special day. 

The truth could wait just a bit longer. 

...

Arya missed bed times. Her parents didn't let her get to bed till it was well past midnight. 

* * *

Mother's Day came and went. 

After serving the woman of the hour breakfast in bed, the Stark brood made their way into Wintertown for the day and helped their mother to a free lunch, a shopping spree, and dinner, with a quick pit stop at the tiny local sept to light some candles. When they returned home, each child gave their mother another gift on top of whatever they bought her earlier that day. Nearly one hundred hours of cumulative labor really did pay off once your kids started making their own money. 

Robb and Jeyne gifted Cat with expensive perfumes and lotions. Jeyne herself got crude macaroni art from her boys; she'd have to wait a few years yet to cash in on her good mother points. 

Sansa got their mother clothes. Designer labels that were only carried in big city boutiques. Cat accepted them as happily as she did Robb and Jeyne's gift. 

Bran gave her books. A series of romance novels, in fact. Well-written ones at that, for adult women. Their mother appreciated the thought. 

Rickon had bought her a necklace. A thin silver chain with a single amber charm. Catelyn adored it and put it on at once. 

Arya's gift was a box full of smaller gifts. A few mason jars of colorful bath salts, some scented candles, a little cat plushie, and two mugs. One reading 'World's Best Mom' and the other reading 'World's Best Grandma'. Both handmade by Arya, with Gendry's help. They were a bit wonky in shape, but the glaze was even, they held water, and the words were legible. Cat squeezed Arya tight in thanks and took her next cup of hot chocolate in the Mom mug.

It was clear who the implicit winner of Mother's Day was.

At least, according to Rickon once their mother was out of the room and earshot to refill her new mug.

Later in the evening, Jon and Meera finally returned from their day long hike in the nearby preserve. Meera joined Bran and Rickon in the den with the dogs while Jon kept Arya company upstairs in her old bedroom. 

"The Faith can be really shitty sometimes, but I gotta admit they have better holidays." Arya remarked, bouncing between social media platforms and scrolling through the hundreds upon hundreds of Mother's Day posts made in the last twenty-four hours. "The Old Gods don't have anything but harvest festivals, and hay rides are only so fun after age six." 

"I don't know, apple bobbing is pretty fun." Jon couldn't even finish the sentence without laughing. 

Arya shivered at the very memory of walking around the fair grounds in chilly Northern weather with wet hair and a damp shirt. "Be serious. That's not even what I really meant. The Old Gods don't have anything to celebrate women. Maiden's Day is the stupidest thing to ever exist, but Mother's Day has the right idea. You should call Lyanna next year." 

Jon lifted his head with that worried brow of his. "And say what? 'Thanks for popping me out at nineteen instead of aborting me' ? 'Thanks for letting me be raised by someone more responsible and capable than yourself' ?" Arya cringed regretfully at her off-hand remark. "Listen," Jon continued, "Lyanna and I are cool, I love her to death, but she's not really my mom the way Catelyn is yours. She gave birth to me and handed me over to Dad to raise because it was the best for the both of us. Now we live thousands of miles apart and text each other 'Happy Birthday'. I'm fine with that now." Jon declared with finality, letting his head sink back into one of Arya's pillows. 

Arya busied herself with cleaning the dirt from under her nails to distract from her misstep. Jon's mother had always been a sore point. Lyanna not raising Jon had been a bit of a last minute decision, so by the time he was in Ned and Cat's custody, it was too late to lay the foundations for a twins cover story for him and Robb. Everyone knew by the time Jon showed up that Catelyn Tully had only given birth to one son, and there was no disguising baby Jon as older than he was either. Passing him off as foster kid or adoptee with his strong resemblance to his uncle had just been a lost cause. So the young parents were forced to let the world come to its own conclusions and hope none of them involved Lyanna. They didn't, at the expense of Cat's pride.

There was no official story in the family, just the known fact that Jon wasn't Cat's kid. Of course all the kids asked at one point who Jon's mother was, where she was, if she would ever come back for Jon (the thought had driven little Arya to tears), but Ned and Cat had always been mute on the issue. 

Until Jon turned seventeen. That was the year he ran off to the Shield Islands to try and reconnect with his mother-turned-aunt. It was a short visit. 

In the feel good movie of the year, Jon and Lyanna's reunion would have been epic and heartwarming, full of declarations of motherly and sonly love, a lemony fresh slate for their relationship. In reality, it had been eight kinds of awkward. Over ten years later, Jon still called Lyanna by her name, and he still had no mom, but he wasn't so torn up about it. He'd been through worse than a mommy-less childhood in the years since. 

"Isn't R'hllor going to be angry with you now?" Jon sliced through Arya's thoughts. 

She snorted at that. "Whatchya gonna do? Tattle on me to the Temple priest?" 

"Maybe I will," Jon chuckled. "Someone ought to inform them of your heresy. Keeping three sets of gods at once like some theological hussy." 

Arya put on a haughty air and did her best impression of one of Gendry's clients. "Didn't you know, I'm a collector." 

"Oh, so that's what the kids are calling it these days." 

Jon was only granted merciful release from being beaten with a pillow when Sansa waltzed in uninvited and splayed herself out at the foot of the bed like a cat. 

"You need something?" Arya asked her, pillow still poised to thwack Jon a hundredth time. 

Sansa smiled demurely. "Oh, don't stop on my account." 

"Traitor!" Jon yowled. 

"You used the last of my conditioner, you brought this on yourself." 

Arya thwacked her brother on her sister's behalf. They laughed at his hurt puppy expression. Arya let Jon take the pillow from her and toss it to the other side of the room, disturbing poor Black Aly from her nap and sending her scampering out the door. "Oh, look what you did, Jon." Arya chided him. 

"Yeah, Jon, you're such a monster." Sansa teased. 

Jon jutted out his chin and gave a dramatic flip of his hair. "Takes one to know one, sis." 

They went on teasing one another like they were kids till their faces were pink with laughter. Even as they laughed, however, there was a noticeable undercurrent, like a river rumbling under an ice sheet. When they really had been kids, they hadn't been able to act like this together. Back then, none of them probably thought something as easy-going as this would be possible between the three of them specifically. It was nice that they'd been so wrong, but the fact they ever thought that at all spoke volumes. 

"Are you guys ever going to settle down and have kids?" The question burst out of Arya's mouth so abruptly it shocked her as well as Jon and Sansa. 

Her siblings gawked at her for a full minute before sharing a perturbed look between themselves. Jon and Sansa solidarity. Another unexpected sight. They both sighed exasperatedly and deflated against the pieces of furniture nearest to them. 

"Even you, Arya?" Asked Sansa as if delivering a dramatic line from a classic Braavosi play. 

"Our baby sister really has turned to the dark side." Jon moaned woefully, an arm covering his eyes and all.

About fifteen years late to audition for the school drama club, the both of them. 

Arya stiffened with offense. "I'm not like Robb. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that marriage is the best thing to happen to anyone ever and if you don't do it, you're wasting your time...I was just curious." Sansa and Jon seemed to relax, believing her. Arya tried to clarify herself further, "I mean, Jon, I never really thought that you would settle down at all till you actually started dating those Free Folk girls. Then I thought for sure you would get married. Even after Ygritte, I thought you and Val for sure..." Arya trailed off at the look in Jon's eye. She turned to Sansa. "And I always thought you would be the first of us to get married, Sans. Now  _I'm_ married, and you're _not_ , and it feels so strange."

"You said that when you got engaged, too." Said Sansa.  

"And your wedding." Added Jon. 

Arya withered at the very mention of it. She was embarrassed even thinking about how she had panicked through her engagement, start to finish, all because she felt like she was somehow usurping Sansa and betraying Jon. They had had talks like this before, the three of them. But in a much different, tear-filled context driven by a lifelong inferiority complex. Rather than the mostly benign, barely duplicitous, curiosity-driven context of the present. 

"This is different. I just was wondering if you guys wanted that sort of thing to even happen in your lives anymore, or in your case Sansa, if you were running on a timeline since you kind of seem the type." 

Sansa raised an eyebrow at that. "Don't you have a timeline, too? Or did you toss the whole thing out the window when you got married a full ten years ahead of schedule?"

Arya grumbled her answer, causing Jon and Sansa to laugh at her expense. Arya turned her back to them, only to find herself sandwiched between her siblings against her will in a comforting, _aw_ -ing and cooing filled embrace. 

"Aw, we made her blush, Jon!" 

"We're very sorry for embarrassing you, little sister." 

"Yes, very wery, little sister." 

"Can you two let go and answer the question, please?" 

They did, mercifully. 

"To be honest, I am not looking to get married any time soon. Maybe if I happen across the right girl--or guy, who knows?--I will. But I'm not actively looking. Never have and probably never will" 

"Same. Including the boy or girl part, but exempting the never have, never will part because that would be a falsehood."

Arya accepted their answers with a nod, and prodded the conversation along in a more innocuous direction. Work, friends, the news, and even politics of all things. When Arya shooed the both of them out of her room so she could finally get to bed, she had no reason to believe she'd somehow tipped them off.

...

The next morning, Sansa cornered Arya in the kitchen and asked just how mangled her timeline was.  

* * *

Ned only let his children laze around the house one more day before putting them all to work somehow. He recruited Robb and Jon to help him with something in the old barn, while Rickon was tasked with chopping wood and shoveling snow with E.J for a helper.

Bran was tasked with programming and setting up every piece of technology in the house that had vexed his parents since his last visit. Naturally, he was done before any of his siblings were even ten percent done with their own tasks. Meera was a guest, a protected class of citizen in the Stark home, and thus barred from lifting a finger all day.

Sansa and Arya were tasked with helping their mother around the house, just as they had done as little girls. Almost ten people's worth of laundry and dishes, vacuuming and dusting, dragging the garbage all the way to the bins at the end of the drive way, which was not yet completely shoveled. Cat was in a bit of a frenzy that day, so she also set the girls to cleaning the fridge, oven, tub, shower, toilets, and sinks. When the girls' elbow grease was thoroughly sapped and the house was sparkled and smelled strongly of lemons, then their mother dragged them off to get groceries. 

By the end of the day, Arya, who had been blinking away fatigue since taking out the garbage, was exhausted beyond all belief. It was like her bone marrow had turned to lead and weights were hung from her eyelids. If she didn't know better, she might have thought she had fallen out of shape since she was a teenager. A career as a dancer didn't really allow for that. The moment the last can of peas was put away, she dragged herself upstairs for a long nap. 

Sansa shook her awake at dinner time. Arya was only enticed to actually leave her bed by a delicious description of what their mother had made for dinner. 

She'd stuffed the hen they'd grabbed at the store with thyme, onion, celery, leeks, sage, and salt. They'd chopped up some cabbage and fried it up with some bits of bacon, and shaved the carrots down to the size of fingers and glazed them in brown sugar, orange juice, and butter. Rickon had mashed the potatoes till they were fluffy as clouds, and Mom had seasoned them with garlic and butter. For dessert, they were going to have sliced melon, strawberries, and cream. 

Arya beat Sansa down the stairs and slid into the dining room with her dancer's grace. At her mother's sharp look, she fixed the rumpled carpet with her toes before taking her seat. 

Arya was just finished adjusting her chair when it hit her. The smell of roasted bird flesh and a half dozen spices competing for room in the air. Vast quantities of warm, thick butter, oily and slick even as an aroma. Wet cabbage and sizzling pork. Sticky, sugary, gelatinous blobs encasing sweaty, flayed carrots. Heavy, lactate cream sitting in a cold plastic container. The army of competing scents allied together for a sweeping wave over Arya's senses, overwhelming her weak defenses and leaving her swimming in a sea of nausea. Her lunch of a ham sandwich tickled at the back of her throat. Arya stubbornly swallowed it down and started making her plate. 

She pecked at her food that night, fighting down a few bites of chicken and a gob of cabbage. The rest of her plate was strategically pushed around with the scientific precision of a second grader to appear as if Arya had eaten more than she had. When dessert made its way around, Arya loaded her bowl with a metric ton of melon chucks and strawberries so she wouldn't go to bed hungry. She passed up the cream. 

If anyone thought it was strange how half the melon ended up in Arya's gut, they didn't say anything. Arya left the table even more certain that she had been on Mother's Day night that she had left no bread crumbs. Very much like how Rickon didn't leave so much as a crumb on his own plate. 

...

The next morning, after catching a whiff of the sausage sizzling downstairs, Arya upchucked her light dinner and heavy dessert into the toilet. For the first time in her entire life, she was grateful she and Sansa shared a bathroom. 

* * *

The next few days saw Arya easily fatigued by far less than one of her mother's cleaning frenzies. Playing with the dogs or even roughhousing with her brothers, as gentle as they were with her these days, left her sluggish for the rest of the afternoon. Rickon made fun of her for falling out of shape after barely a week off from work. Arya didn't defend herself as well as she could have, just because he said it in front of most of the family and it made an adequate, if sort of flimsy excuse. She covered up her frequent naps with complaints of mind-numbing boredom. Only Cat seemed at all concerned by that. 

Sansa meanwhile proved a useful ally. 

Her sister would back her complaints about being bored to sleep by the cottage's quietness, and feigned yawns as if infected by Arya's. 

When it came to the vomit, Sansa took the liberty of appropriating the air freshener from the cleaning supplies cabinet. As for Arya's neutered appetite, the sisters soon found that Arya could most dry foods like chips, cookies, trail mix, and cereal, so Arya started chowing down on those when the opportunity arose. If their brothers or parents caught her at it, Sansa was right there with a jape about Arya losing that dancer's figure of hers if she kept stuffing her face between meals. If anything, to the rest of the family it seemed Arya was _overeating_. 

Arya half worried they would stage an intervention before she returned home to Gendry in Rosby. She shared her fears jokingly with Gendry during one of their nightly phone calls.

**"You _still_ haven't told them?"**

"I'm waiting till after Bran's birthday. I don't want to overshadow anyone." 

**"I just feel like the longer we wait, the higher the odds one of us is going to slip up. I saw a picture Bella posted of her baby the other day and commented about how I couldn't wait to have one of my own. Thank God, her mind immediately jumped to you and me thinking about it rather than-"**

"Sansa knows." Arya confessed. 

**"..."**

"What? No bragging about being right? No worries about her fat mouth?"

**"...Nah, Sansa can keep a secret with the best of them. And so far, so good, right? Arya, I'm not worried about your family. They will be ecstatic however they find out, as long as it's from you, and will keep quiet till you give your say so. But if any of _my_ family finds out, it will be spread across the continent before noon."**

"Well, considering you have a sibling in just about every region and they're all ten times more sociable than you, that's a pretty simple task. They're like cell phone towers."

**"Exactly why I would like you to tell your folks soon before _I_ slip. So they won't find out by scrolling through social media, or God forbid, Bella doing a shout out during the weather broadcast."**

"We don't get Riverlands channels this far North."

 **"One, I am not completely confident that will stop her.**   **And two, even if it did, you let an entire branch of your family tree slip your mind just now, Arya."**

"Shit." Arya really did need to call her grandfather and uncle more. Grandpa Hoster wouldn't live forever. Especially if the cancer came back...

**"Yeah, shit."**

"...I'm really tired, Gendry..." It was brutally true in several senses. 

**"Me, too, Arry. G'night. Love you."**

"Love you, too. Call you in the morning." 

...

Arya had to drop their next call mid-sentence in order to dry heave into the trash bin under her old computer desk. The scene repeated itself that afternoon, with an encore that evening before bed.

* * *

Arya was burping into a toilet bowl when Sansa slipped in, Black Aly and Wild Dog on her heels. Her sister silently rubbed comforting circles in her back till the spell of nausea passed. 

"This much vomit healthy?" Sansa asked over the flush of the toilet. 

"As long as I stay hydrated and keep most of my food down according to that dumb book in my duffel." Arya's voice echoed in the bowl from where she rested her chin on the rim. She shoved Wild Dog away when he tried to drink the toilet water. 

"Are you doing that?"

A pregnant pause.

"I'm not sure?" 

" _Arya_." 

She let her sister admonish her at length, too tired to open her awful tasting mouth in her own defense and too distracted by Black Aly licking at her toes. When she was done with her rant, Sansa pulled Arya to her feet, sanitized her chin thoroughly, and put her to bed like she might have done when they were kids had they had a better relationship back then. It was sweet in a shoving Arya down and throwing a blanket over her whilst still in her jeans and sneakers way. Arya didn't fight it. Her bed was soft, the temperature was just right, the smell of fabric softener was one of the few things that didn't regularly make her want to hurl. Sansa flicked off the light on her way out, and Arya was out with it. 

When she awoke, Arya was met with a folded piece of paper on her bedside table, a ruler's length from the tip of her nose and dominating her vision the way the demonic red numbers of her alarm clock usually did when she woke up each day. Her sister really did know her. Because no one besides Sansa would do something like this except maybe Bran. But Arya had thick carpet in her room, so Bran hadn't been inside in over a decade, leaving only one culprit.

Arya reached out and unfolded the paper. It was a print out of a webpage. Arya skimmed the contents with tired eyes. With each passing line, her alarm grew and a sinking pit began to open in her gut. Her womb dangled perilously over it in Arya's mind's eye, and at that moment she was sorely tempted to try and plug it with all the food in the kitchen. 

She climbed out of bed and clutched the paper to her chest as she crept through the adjoining bathroom to Sansa's room. She found her elbow-deep in a mixing bowl full of popcorn, watching a romantic comedy on her computer set up on the other side of the room on her desk. A testament to her increased levels of cynicism since the disaster that was Harry Hardyng, rather than cooing at the sappy line proceeding the Big Kiss, Sansa booed unenthusiastically and tossed a handful of popcorn at the screen. 

"You'll have to be the one to pick that up." Arya pointed out. 

Sansa whipped around in surprise. Her eyes fell from Arya's face to the paper. "You read all of it?" 

Arya wadded up the paper and threw it at her sister's head. There was no malice in the throw but it was still childishly satisfying to see Sansa flinch so hard. "Fearmonger. You scared me half to death with this crap." 

Sansa gave her an unimpressed look. "So you weren't moved at all to action?" 

"Yeah," Arya answered. "This one." She snatched the wad off Sansa's bed and pelted her with it a second time. 

Ten minutes later, the dog pile on the floor of Sansa's room had somehow escalated to include one Rickon, an E.J, and three of the dogs. It was only broken up by the timely intervention of the family matriarch. Cat shooed Rickon and the grandkids out the door and turned to her daughters, surely with the age old scolding dusted off and poised on the tip of her tongue. Sansa shut her mouth when she zipped over to her bedroom door and shut it. 

Cat regarded her eldest with confusion while Arya regarded her with suspicion. 

"Sansa, what're you-"

"Mom," Sansa interrupted quickly. "You need to talk Arya about something." 

Arya tried her best to hide her red hot fury at Sansa with a confused look to mirror her mother's. She was never happier for her line of work. And never more sure that Gendry was a massive jinx. 

Cat looked between her daughters in confusion. "What about?" She asked slowly. 

Sansa didn't say at first. "That's for Arya to say. But she does need your help, don't let her convince you otherwise."

Cat eyed Arya up and down, clearly not completely believing Sansa. Arya started to relax. "I'm sure Arya would have come to me if she needed help." A doubtful look flashed across her face that left Arya wounded and distracted as well. She knew exactly what her mother had just thought. Doubt had sneaked up on her and Arya both and left them defenseless to Sansa's next words. 

"You're the expert here. She _should_ talk to you about this, she's just being shy." 

The confusion flooded Cat's features again, because Arya was never ever shy about anything, even as a surly teenager she had been anything but shy. Her out-going nature always shined through. Except, of course, in the case of love and sex and all its ornaments...Arya watched understanding light up her mother's features as the synapses in her brain fired, replaying memories, making connections, drawing a single conclusion that was all but confirmed verbally by how Arya shrank under her mother's wide-eyed gaze. 

A beat accentuated by Arya's beat red face. 

"Arya," Her mother began. The second syllable caught in her throat with a squeak like a dog toy. She began again, "Arya, are you..." There was a glimmer of thinly veiled hope in her blue eyes. Arya saw it. "Pregnant?" 

That was the first time the word had reached Arya's ears since the physician had confirmed it. No one had used the word since, not even Arya. She and Gendry had just come to grips with it as a definite thing shortly before her flight, and had taken to using vague terminology in reference to her condition between themselves. Even Sansa had danced around the subject like a fire whose stray flames might leap out suddenly and burn her. But here was Arya's own mother, asking outright if she was expecting, in a family way, baking a bun in the oven, with child, _gravid_ , or perhaps knocked up; in short, pregnant. 

Arya's defenses crumbled. She remembered the salmon swimming upstream and fifty percent of why she was up North. "Yeah." She admitted, embarrassed. 

In an instant, Arya was enveloped in a crushing embrace by both her mother and her sister. Arya kicked her sister off. 

"No hugs for tattletales." She spat. 

Sansa stuck out her tongue but remained on the opposite end of the bed from where Cat was smothering Arya with kisses. The smooches got wetter and wetter in a matter of seconds, and Arya soon realized, to her simultaneous relief and distress, that is was not saliva but her mother's tears. 

"Mom? Mom, are you okay?" 

Cat buried her face in the hair on one side of Arya's head and stroked the hair on the other. "I am over the moon, sweetheart." She pulled away suddenly and asked, "What do you need help with? Is something wrong?" 

"No!" Arya answered quickly

"Yes." Sansa answered in contradictory. 

At Cat's sharp look, Arya amended her answer to a maybe. With Sansa there to more or less fact check, Cat soon had the whole of it from Arya, right down to Sansa's devious little print out. It was a joy to watch Sansa get her just desserts for that little stunt, but the other ninety-nine percent of their mother's attention was squarely on Arya. No one could fault her for thinking she was going to end up being chewed out far worse than she ever had been at fifteen. No one could fault her for being surprised when she wasn't, and instead was offered soft-spoken reassurance. 

"We'll schedule you a check up before you fly back. Till then, I know some good home remedies for nausea and morning sickness from where I was pregnant with you all." Cat chuckled and wiped her thumb against a smudge to Arya's cheek. "What goes around comes around, I suppose." 

Arya watched her mother stand up from the bed in amazement. "That's really it?" 

Cat smiled, amused at her daughter. "Were you expecting confetti and a banner to drop out from the ceiling? We could do that when you tell the rest of the family if you'd like." 

"No, no, Gods no." Arya wrinkled her nose at the idea. "It's nothing really...I guess I just expected you to make a bigger deal about me being such an Adult like Robb." It was out there in the open, finally, and off Arya's chest. She felt lighter already. 

Her mother's smile turned sympathetic. "I learned my lesson with Robb, too. For the most part, anyways. I realize that sometimes I may gush too much and make you uncomfortable, but I promise I won't try and paint parenthood like the final stage in your evolution to adulthood from which you will never escape. Pinky swear." 

Arya accepted the promise gladly. "This is such a relief," She sighed. "You have no idea how afraid I was about you crowning me resident queen of Adulting. I could not handle that pressure after a lifetime of sexism fueled inferiority complexes. Whoever thinks marriage and kids makes an adult is an idiot, I swear Jon and Sansa seem more adult to me than Bella or any granola mom I pass in the grocery store." The thoughts and feelings bottled up and haphazardly shelved in her head the past week smashed to the ground and flowed out the drainage wipe that was her mouth with surprising ease. 

"Bella, isn't that Gendry's hot weather girl sister?" Asked Sansa. 

"The very same."

"Huh...didn't take her for a mom." 

"Exactly. Half the reason I didn't tell you all the minute I found out is because I couldn't handle the idea of having to conform to this weird societal ideal of _Mom_. Like, I feel like on some level I was worried about being a sell out in dumb teenage me's eyes by doing everything I expected of you, Sansa. Getting married to the hot guy I met in college and having babies with him. On another level, I think I was feeling weird about it the same way I did about my wedding. Like I was somehow taking something from you by being the first to get married and also the first of us to have a baby. Which is so weird for me what with how we grew up." 

Sansa nodded along, understanding perfectly. "That's how I clocked that you were pregnant, because if you were so concerned about mine and Jon's plans, then there had to be something going on with you that won't happen with us for the foreseeable future. Which, ya know, marriage and gainful employment down, only really kids, divorce, and death to go. I took the optimistic route." 

"And you were exactly right." Arya laughed. The sisters shared a high five to their mother's bewilderment. 

"The contrast is amazing." She remarked. "I sometimes wonder if one day someone is going to clap or snap their fingers and I will wake up in the recliner to you and Arya fighting over the remote only for to end up _through_ the television screen." 

"We apologized for that."

"You docked our allowances for two years. It's time to let it go, Mom." 

Cat held up her hands in surrender. "I'm just saying you two were rougher with each other than any of your brothers ever were, and probably those boys down the road, too." 

The sisters feigned horrified offense to their mother's words, gasping like they'd just come up for air and clutching at their non-existent pearls. Their mother rolled her eyes at their theatrics before reeling them back in for a serious conversation with a simple question, "Arya, sweetheart, what was the other reason?"

"Huh?"

"The other reason you didn't tell us about the baby."

 _The baby_. Sweet Seven, great Old Gods, and fiery R'hllor, that would take getting used to. 

Arya answered her mother after sparing herself a half minute of recovery. "I didn't want to overshadow Bran's birthday. So I was going to tell you guys the day after."

Cat was more than understanding. "That was very kind of you, Arya, to take your brother into account."

"So you're on board?" Asked Arya.

"Of course." 

" _Excuse me?_ "

Sansa was taken aback by the idea that they were going to go on keeping this a big secret, but Cat still held great sway over her elder daughter and had her silence guaranteed by the time they left her bedroom together to start dinner. Something mostly dry, for Arya. 

...

The next day, Grandpa Hoster called, fresh off the daily weather broadcast in the Riverlands, and Ned answered the phone. He returned to the den where everyone was gathered, face ashen. 

Arya had indeed married a massive jinx. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jo, thank you so much for your help with the Jon Con these past several weeks and letting me bounce ideas back and forth with you. You're one of my favorite people in this fandom and I am so glad I met you! I hope you liked the story!
> 
> As for everyone else, please do comment and kudos if you liked the story or have constructive criticism! 
> 
> And please check out Veridissma's work here on AO3, she really does have some great stuff with Aegon and Myrcella, and she loves Cat/Ned so if you have a hankering please head her way, and I can't recommend her on-going magnum opus 'Being a teenager is like being at war' enough! It's a frankly huge High School au taking place in the 90s with all the Robert's Rebellion generation characters. Like, all of them. Check it out.


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